


The Perils Of A03

by witchway



Series: The Perils Of Dating Tony Stark [6]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Tony, College Student Peter Parker, First Times, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexting, Texting, Tony Feels, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Cuddles, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-01-31 15:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21448801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchway/pseuds/witchway
Summary: Peter's lover jokes.A lot.All the time.Like, seriously, it's constant.  It never stops.So......this is all TONY'S fault, really.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Starker - Relationship, Tony Stark/Peter Parker
Series: The Perils Of Dating Tony Stark [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1520855
Comments: 64
Kudos: 174





	1. The Perils Of Date-night

It took a year for Peter to work up the nerve to proposition Tony.

Not to say that the CRUSH went on for a year – oh no – the crush had been MUCH longer than that – for FAR longer than Peter was even legal. But Peter was legal, now, and little did Iron Man know, Spider-Man had spent the year _preparing_ for the moment he hit up Tony Stark.

He laid out all his plans carefully in his mind. He executed them with precision. He lost his V-card. He got laid. He got instructed, by instructors both erudite and dubious, in the oral arts.

But more than anything, he read a LOT of AO3.

He read Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warning Apply and ALL the warnings in-between.

He read Angst With A Happy Ending and Porn Without Plot, he read Hurt/Comfort and Bingos and Sharing a Beds and Drunk Sex and Drunk Cuddling. He read Threesomes and Foursomes and Fivesomes and I Don’t Even Knows. He read a LOT of I Wrote This Instead Of Sleepings, Why Did I Write Thises and I Will Go Down With This Ships. He read Bed Sharing and Pretend Boyfriends and Pretend Husbands and Magic Sex Pollens and Aliens Made Them Do It. He read I’m Sorrys and I Don’t Know Why I Wrote Thises and I’m Going To Hells and I’m Blame Tumblrs (he read a LOT of I Blame Tumblrs.) 

He read Incest and Twincest and Clone Sex. He read Fluff, Domestic Fluff and Tooth-Rotting Fluff. He read Non-Con (that was really Dub-Con) and Dub-Con (that was really Non-Con) and a LOT of Con that seriously wasn’t any kind of Con at all! He read about sex that went on in Hogwarts and Narnia and LOTRland and on Diskworld and on the Death Star and on the Enterprise, at Wuthering Heights and Manderly and Castle Dracula and 221b Baker Street and oh so much Victorian England he lost count. He did NOT head for the Tony Stark RP fic (although there was much – so, _so_ much) not ever.

Well, not much.

(But how could he NOT, in the middle of an epic Jean Val Jean-Javier-Slavery-Ball Massaging fic, peep into what AO3 THOUGHT Tony Stark would be like in bed? After all, that was ALL Peter Parker thought about.)

He didn’t stay there long (after all MOST of AO3 seemed to think Tony Stark liked Cap – in **THAT** way) because it all seemed so ridiculous. Even the occasional pieces that caught his eye that paired Tony with Spider-Man (who, for reasons Peter never understood, EVERYONE believed was ice-blue eyed stark-white blonde and possibly Slovakian.)

But mostly, Peter went on AO3 to ask questions.

Not on AO3 proper, of course, but on Tumblr, the AO3 gossip site. All under the guise of being a writer, of course (his user name was **_notAblonde21_**) he asked questions.

He asked lots, and lots of questions.

“How should my character ask this other character he if likes him THAT way?” “What arguments could a younger character make if an older character argued age difference?” and “How should my younger character indicate to his older lover that he is not a virgin but STILL has a case of the nerves?”

But, more important, more than any other question: “What do guys say to each other? (You know, in bed?)”

The answers ranged from the plausible to the debatable to the patently ridiculous. 

* * * * *

Did _any_ of those AO3 answers do him ANY good in the end? Peter would never tell. But after a year of entertaining answers (both the ones he read and the ones he heard in his head) he had probably used none of them.

He never verbally propositioned Tony. He just waited until they were alone (NOT easy, it took weeks) waited until Tony dropped one of his inappropriate innuendoes (that took less than a minute) and simply grabbed him by the face and kissed him.

(And used his superior strength to push Tony up against the way and have his way for a few minutes – if he was going to get rejected he was going to find out a few things for himself first. That possibility, the possibility of forcing himself on Tony, that idea he DID get from A03. VERY few of those fics remembered that Spider-Man was naturally stronger than most of the Avengers. But those fics that did??? Oh _my_.)

But Tony didn’t reject him. Other than one snarky comment (“How long have you been saving that?” “Since the day you started calling me Underoos again.") Tony seemed enthusiastic, until, of course, they were interrupted. 

But thanks to texting, crowds didn’t bother them. Even in a room full of Asgardian ambassadors negotiating the possibility of treaties between Earth and Asgard, Peter and Tony, via phone, made plans for their first assignation.

Peter honestly didn’t have any plans after that (Peter was honestly just hoping Tony would take him seriously enough for a hookup.) He never _dreamed_ Tony would take him seriously enough for anything else.)

And yet here they were.

Wherever here was.

* * * *

This was the problem with Superheroes Dating, Peter found. After some intense months of non-stop sex (which mostly consisted of Peter letting Tony go down on him. For a while there the man was an addict) they had settled down into a kind of somewhat-less-than-desperate routine. 

If you could call anything in their lives routine.

In between his insane college-AND-work schedule and Tony’s insane Tony-Is-Insane schedule, they had exactly two date nights a week, and only one of those was what Tony called “ironclad” (meaning he would let NO Stark-related business intrude upon it, a promise which he, touchingly, kept.)

Even though those “date nights” consisted entirely of Netflix-And-Chill (which meant in-between sex they would lounge on the couch, Peter doing homework on his laptop while Tony rubbed his feet and watched Netflix) they were times that Peter craved and treasured.

But crime, sadly, knew nothing about date night.

It was several months into the relationship or whatever it was, that Peter began to get frustrated. 

The sex was epic, no doubt. Peter even employed a few tidbits he picked up on AO3 – after an intense online discussion with a popular AO3 writer (and ACTUAL gay man, a decided minority) Peter had learned to apply the relaxing and tightening of specific muscles. With very little practice on Tony, Peter had learned to milk his cock. The look on Tony’s face, to say the least, was very rewarding. He also enjoyed the practice he read about involving looking over his shoulder and looking Tony in the eye. But as for the pillowtalk he had so meticulously researched, he used none of it. He could never work up the nerve.

But after the sex the REGULAR talk was ONLY about homework or the lameness of whatever show was on Netflix. 

And on their _very_ few ventures outside Stark Tower the conversation was nill. Outside the safety of the Tower walls Tony was like a comedian on a stage – all jokes and lewd remarks and straight up raunchiness. After months of dating, Peter was beginning to marvel out how very little talking they actually managed to do.

Not that Tony behaved that way in bed – Peter nixed that on their very first night together. In fact Tony was _very_ quiet in bed – almost too-quiet (except for 'Are you ready?' Oh, and that one sweet question, 'What do you need?') 

Peter was a little disappointed – he did want SOME talking in bed. Maybe some of the lovely things he had read online.

But not tonight. Tonight Peter was just royally pissed.

Date-night was absolutely shot – the Avengers were assembled in DC and taking on a villain who was threatening major buildings – and **_Peter was invited_** and missing it all because he was making up a chemistry final. 

And why was he making up a chemistry final?? Because when he was supposed to be taking his chemistry final he was instead chasing a local car thief around Brooklyn.

Now here he was, trudging back to his dorm room on date-night – ALONE - all because Tony insisted that “School comes first” because of a test he only missed because he was busy being the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.

“DAMN that Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, GODdamn that Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, goddamn that Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man to fucking hell,” Peter swore under his breath (see, he COULD curse. And if he COULD curse, then he COULD talk dirty.)

(As long as there were never any other people around.) 

Back in his single dormroom was no better – outside in the hallways they were celebrating some kind of sports victory while Peter just swore under his breath over and over and over, watching the time pass on the clock and reviewing it all in his head – he COULD have been in DC by now if he had left THEN, but he WASN’T in DC and it was Too Late Now. He COULD have been getting GREAT After-The-Battle sex from Iron Man but **_NO_** he was stuck in his dormroom with some endless drunken party going outside and he was horny and frustrated and PISSED.

Which is why he dove into his bed, pulled up the covers, opened up his laptop and dove into AO3 for the first time in ages.

He went straight for the Tony Stark porn – why not??? He read AU-Mafia Boss and Soulmate-Identifying Whatthehellevers and _something_ called Superior!Tony (he never did figure out WHAT that meant but they were always dark and brutal and Tony’s eyes were weird.) 

He plunged into tags he did even know the meaning of – which is how he wound up in a unlikely-but-very-hot ABO fic (he never did figure out what an ABO was but he figured it was an AU of SOME sort and the guys could get pregnant.) He was three chapters into a carefully detailed threeway when Tony turned to Cap (who was a coffee-shop owner??) and asked to be penetrated. “I'm begging you,” fic-Tony was panting. “I’ve wanted it for so long, but I didn’t know how to ask….”

“Oh **_please_**,” Peter moaned out loud. “As if Tony wouldn’t be willing to joke about…”

Peter shut the laptop with a snap, his eyes opened wide.

Then he sat back so hard he smashed his head against the wall, leaving a mark (on the wall.)

He poured himself out of his bed and sat on the floor in complete darkness, dumbfounded. And when he caught his breath a flood of information filled his brain like a tsunami. 

The dirty jokes – AH GOD the dirty jokes. Loud and often and embarrassing. And so, so, so many. Starting from the very day Peter had casually announced he had celebrated his birthday in Boystown and had made a few new ‘friends’ at such-and-such a bar (part of his long, involved secret plan to let Tony know he was available.)

They were bad jokes, and they were filthy jokes, and they were politically incorrect jokes. And didn’t they – now that Peter thought about it – suggest something he hadn’t considered before?

“Maybe he needs a good ass-ramming from a twink,” Tony had joked about YET ANOTHER villain (Tony’s CONSTANT referral to defeating badguys as ass-rammings was getting old and tired and yet it continued through constant complaints from multiple Avengers.) “I don’t think you know what a twink is, Tony,” Peter had countered at the time, but now the statement just made his eyes wider.

And there had been MANY jokes to that effect – more than Peter could count (he had learned to ignore them.) 

And then – ah god and then – the night of their first time (or was it the next?) that Tony had pushed him up against a counter and stroked his erection through his pants, panting in his ear, “And how many of those science nerds and tech geniuses have had the thrill of feeling _this_ part their ass? I want names and places and positions.”

“You’re all talk, Stark,” was Peter’s counter. He was proud of it at time. 

And then…..”QUIT rawdogging my ass, Fury, that’s PETER’S job!” to a computer screen after it became common knowledge that they had hooked up. “Deranged fantasy, probably due multiple head injuries” was Peter’s parry. 

(But that was them, wasn’t it? It was ALL banter and snark, all counter and parry. They NEVER talked about what the other one wanted _in_ _bed_. Standing up in the atrium for some mind-blowing blowjobs? Oh yeah. [Although Tony mostly demonstrated rather than _said_.] But _in the **bed**_? Nope. Not beyond his two polite questions.)

And then, OH GOD, and then…

That night, it had been THAT NIGHT that Tony joked about their sex life in front of Fury that Peter confronted him. 

“I’ve learned to ignore all the lewdness and the one-liners and single-entendres and stupidity – but that means I’m ignoring _75% of what comes out of your mouth_ Tony! Do you know how _lonely_ that makes me??”

He regretted the words as soon as he said them – their Netflix-and-Chill night was supposed to begin the moment the conference call with Fury ended – and Peter had no reason to believe that an argument before hand would nix the whole evening.

He didn’t know if they would have sex after they argued – they had never argued before. Arguing involved communication, and communication was just not something they did.

But Tony said nothing in reply, only stared at him intensely. “What do you want from me, Kid?” he said finally, and he sounded as if the wind had been punched out of him.

“I just want a little honesty, a little communication for godssakes, I just want a little honest conversation…”

But Tony was peeling off his vest and throwing it at Peter.

“I didn’t mean,” Peter started, but his voice died in his throat when Tony actually _took off his shirt_, which he NEVER did in a lit room, and threw THAT at Peter too.

Peter stood dumbfounded for a moment as Tony stood, naked to the waist, in front of him, his chest heaving, his face confrontational. For a split second Peter took it all in, the scars Tony always hid. The trackmarks of the arc reactor, the ravages of the hand-to-hand combat with creatures that shouldn't exist in our world. The ugly footnotes of saving the universe. The perils of being Tony Stark.

But then Tony started undoing his belt and Peter was concentrating on getting naked too.

They had paused for a moment... took each other in for a few silent seconds before coming together in the middle, Tony grabbed Peter’s face **hard**. He brought their foreheads together and said…

... _oh god how had Peter forgotten it?_

“I’m going to take you into that bedroom, and I am going to slick up that beautiful cock, and I am going to ask you to do _obscene_ things to my body.”

* * * * *

Peter-In-The-Dormroom groaned and sank his head down into his hands at just how **_ignorant_** Peter-In-Stark-Tower had been. (But he had been so PROUD of himself! He hadn’t countered, he hadn’t parried, he had simply forced Tony’s hands off his head, taken the man’s hand in his and, with what he hoped was his best pair of bedroom eyes, led the man boldly into the next room.)

It was a _good_ move. He was **_proud_** of that move. Dammit, why was it that _everything he was proud of_ had been wrong?

“OhgodTonyI’msorry” Dormroom-Peter was moaning into his hands now. Tony had promised to do anything in bed Peter asked (in a rare moment of communication with words – “I’ll do anything you want, _anything_ baby, just ask,” he had whispered and Peter HAD asked. Without words. Peter was BAD at words in bed – but fortunately everything he wanted could be described with his hands and his body) and instead of reciprocating Peter had just been clueless. When Tony had asked…

Peter’s head snapped up.

Tony never asked. 

“I am going to ask you to do obscene things to my body,” he had whispered…wait…had he said ‘asked’ or ‘demand?’ But it didn’t matter, because when they got to bed Tony hadn’t _asked_ for anything. 

It had been a beautiful night – Peter blushed to remember it – Tony had spread him wide and held him on the edge for so long - Tony had made him _scream_ that night – but now Dormroom-Peter could only remember the words that had been whispered before.

And how he had failed. He had utterly failed.

And the roses! Ah gods, the day of **_the twelve dozen roses_**!! Tony had actually said ‘Take me into the bedroom and fuck me.’ but Peter had brushed it off as a joke! (And why shouldn’t he dammit the man was _always joking_!) And then Tony had actually gotten him into the bedroom when he had growled “I want you inside me Peter Parker” and Peter had pushed him to the bed….and promptly rode his cock.

“That’s not my fault we had _literally_ just had an argument about his oral addiction RIGHT BEFORE WE WALKED IN THE BEDROOM dammit Tony _how was I supposed to know **you didn’t mean oral**_??”

Dormroom-Peter moaned loudly and covered his face. He had been so proud of that day, so proud of how _well_ he had held his own in that argument. Was his every achievement going to turn out to be a failure?

“Oh Tony, you didn’t ask, why didn’t you ask – wait a minute….”

Laptop and blanket and all were unceremoniously dumped as Peter dove for his backpack to scramble for his phone. 

It was still there.

_That_ text exchange. (Ok the truth was he saved ALL their exchanges.) It was right there. In black and white. Less than a month ago.

_-Miss you_

_-When do I get to see you_

**-I’m going to break into your dorm room grease up Little-Peter and take your V-card**

_-I lost my V-card before I kissed you. You’ve got nothing Stark_

**-There are different kinds of V-cards, kid.**

**-Someday I’m going to get EVERY ONE of yours.**

Peter put the phone down and stared, dumbfounded, at the clock. He watched it count the hours down until dawn. There would be no sleep tonight. There might be no more sleep forever.


	2. The Perils Of Being Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a larger issue here, a longer conversation that needed to be had, and Peter had promised himself that, some day, they were going to have it. Well, today was that day.

**-I’m going to break into your dorm room grease up Little-Peter and take your V-card**

_-I lost my V-card before I kissed you. You’ve got nothing Stark_

**-There are different kinds of V-cards, kid.**

**-Someday I’m going to get EVERY ONE of yours.**

Peter was too much of a coward to talk to Tony that evening, or even the next day. But when he discovered Tony would be back in New York and at Stark Tower the following evening he printed the exchange out and left it for Tony to find when he returned home.

Folding the paper he wrote on the back:

_“I didn’t get it. I’m sorry. Yes my level of obliviousness is astounding. But if you are still interested, I’m in.”_

He winced at the wording (the comedian he was dating would find that wording comic _gold_.) but it was handwritten and too late to start over. 

He practically fled the penthouse, even though Tony was still hours away. 

He didn't want to be here when Tony read the note. He wanted Tony to read it alone.

* * *

Tony landed at Stark Tower two hours later, just as planned. Peter knew because FRIDAY narced on him. But Tony didn’t text Peter that night, nor the next day. Peter trudged through campus all day sleep-deprived and anxious. Had Tony even _seen_ the note? Peter left it at the table where he knew Tony had breakfast -- he should have left it on the bed, sometimes Tony forgot to eat. Actually he should have left it in the _lab_, sometimes Tony forgot to sleep. 

Dammit no he should have just waited until the heat of the moment to suggest it. Tony wouldn’t have argued then --**_Tony did not talk during sex_** \-- and that way there would have been no _thinking_ about it. But now he had made Tony _think_ about it which means he blew it. Tony’s texts, like his jokes, were _not_ supposed to be taken seriously.

Even if he repeated them constantly.

Dammit, just when Peter thought he had _finally_ mastered the Gen X Language (or rather, the language of his Own Personal Comedian) he had just screwed everything up? Why was he always getting things _wrong_?

He was actually standing in the quad surrounded by a group of girls (all telling him how _awesome_ he was in class and leaning on him to join their study group) feeling like the stupidest person on earth. Then, as Peter was literally about to give up completely commit to their library-meet-up that evening, his phone started playing AC/DC.

He amused his peers with how _fast_ he pulled it out to read.

**-I’m home.**

“Liar, you’ve been home since last night,” Peter growled, much to the amusement of everyone there. Some of the girls knew he had a boyfriend, an older, recently-divorced guy, that he had been dating for almost a year. He had to hide the phone against his chest to keep them from looking at the texts and giving him advice. They ALL had opinions. Still, when they joked, he laughed with them. 

Fuck Tony Stark, damn drama queen. Peter had lost an entire day, academically, to that man’s issues. 

Then Tony texted

**-I’m ready.**

and Peter left.

The only reason he didn’t sprint out of campus was because his friends were watching. (And he might have broken into a run even then.)

* * * *

Peter had been nervous the first time he propositioned Tony. Even more nervous that first time he entered Stark Tower (in those days Tony had programmed FRIDAY to announce him as “The Twink.” Yet another jibe out of Tony’s mouth Peter had learned to ignore.)

But he had never been as nervous as he was now, landing on the suitpad. He almost didn’t want to disengage his mask. His mouth was so dry he felt vaguely nauseous. When he had arrived at Stark Tower to let Tony Stark fuck him, he knew he was already taken care of. He had assumed Tony knew what he was doing … oh who was he kidding he imagined Tony would be spectacular (and he was right, of course.) But not anymore. Walking into Tony’s sidedoor now might have been the bravest thing he had ever done. He had no idea what he was doing now.

And it was more than that. Oh lordy yes, it was so much more than that. He had realized the thing that had been bothering him ever since that night he had been reading AO3 and had a revelation that left a mark on the wall. The **_question_** that had been bothering him -- and the **_answer_** he had realized only as he webslung his way to Tony. Which meant that, even if he could pull this off right now...

... there was a larger issue here, a longer conversation that needed to be had, and Peter had promised himself that, some day, they were going to have it. 

Well, today was that day.

_If he didn’t lose his nerve._

The first thing he saw as he entered the bright room was that Tony looked very, very tired. He was half-out of his business attire, tie undone and hanging forgotten around his neck, shirt collar unbuttoned and shoes missing. More importantly, the man looked as terrified as he felt.

Peter had sprinted across campus at regular human speed, not at spiderspeed. 

He didn’t worry about that now. He was across the room in a second with Tony in his arms.

“OhgodTonyI’msorry,” he blurted out, holding the man close, _trying_ to remember not to crush him.

“Don’t be sorry, Kid,” Tony was saying, or trying to say, as Peter loosened his grip to let the man breathe.

“But I am. I was oblivious. I was an idiot...”

He placed his head squarely in the center of Tony’s chest and wrapped his arms around the man. He was shaking.

“I guess I should mention I’ve never done this before…..” he said, realizing, only too late, that Tony certainly thought he was talking about the sex.

“S’ok Kid. I know. And I have,” Tony was saying, gently stroking his hair and placing a kiss on his neck.

“_Not what I was talking about, and no, you haven’t_,” Peter thought, but said nothing. There was no point in correcting the man about the topic of conversation now. 

Besides, the sex was _certainly_ going to come first.

Peter took Tony’s face in both hands and kissed him, slipping his tongue inside in short, shy movements. He remembered that he could make the man moan if he did that. 

Then he took Tony’s hand and pressed it against the center of his chest, and the armor fell away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You came this far - and you KNOW you can't leave kudos again.
> 
> Why not leave a comment?
> 
> Comments are easy - just cut and paste your favorite line.
> 
> Comments make longer fic, just saying.....


	3. The Benefits Collaboration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony was enjoying himself, and Peter felt himself relax. He kept their foreheads together as they rocked. He could say anything now, Peter realized, and soon he found himself saying all the things he had dreamed that Tony would say to him.

Peter stepped out of his suit fully clothed (there was _no way_ he was going to get naked that fast with Tony, oh no, not tonight) and took his lover by the hand. He looked up nervously -- if he managed to say the things he wanted to say tonight this might be their last night together. But Tony didn’t seem to notice.

Tony looked serene. It gave Peter courage. Yes, they might get into an argument and it might get him kicked out of Stark Tower forever – but _dammit_ he had mustered the courage to risk it once before, maybe he could risk it tonight.

* * *

On their way to the bedroom, Peter had two thoughts.

1 Don’t call him ‘baby’. You called him ‘baby’ once and, while he didn’t protest, he also didn’t approve.

2 You can call him ‘angel’ He specifically gave you permission to call him ‘angel.’

* * * *

In the bedroom Peter stopped Tony for another kiss, pulling Tony’s arms around him. Then he guided the man’s hands to his clothes. He wanted Tony to undress him, make him feel safe, at least for a little while. 

He got his way. Tony even kept him close while he undressed himself, kissing and holding the entire time. But when Tony tried to push him down to the bed, Peter stood like stone.

He was, after all, the stronger of the two.

“OH NO,” he said suddenly, and he realized what he wanted as soon as he said it. “This is not something you get to do **_to_** me, Tony Stark. No. You _take_ a lot –- even when you’re on your knees you **take**. Tonight, you’re going to wait to be _given_.”

Wait… that might not have exactly made sense... but at least Tony wasn’t commenting. His eyebrows went up and he grinned, but (naturally) said nothing. But of course the sex had started, so there would be no talking. The good news was, the man wouldn’t argue. The bad news was, Peter might not get _any_ advice. He might be on his own.

Which became an issue almost immediately. Peter had successfully kissed Tony into position (he was proud of that, how he had effortlessly kissed the man until Tony was flat on his back and Peter was stretched out on top. Then again, the man was _very_ willing.) Soon he was kneeling between spread legs, but when Peter looked up and realized, much to his chagrin…

… he had no idea where the lube was.

Dammit, Tony always managed to make it appear –- just like a magic trick!

But that was ridiculous, it was right there under the fourth pillow, obviously. With a little looking about (and a little Tony pointing silently) Peter found it. It was lying right next to the fresh hand towel, just like it always was.

He took the bottle and the towel and kissed Tony deeply... and immediately found he could NOT open the damn bottle AND slick up his finger AND kiss Tony at the same time!

“Dammit how do you make this look so easy?" Peter said angrily, sitting up suddenly, realizing, for the first time, how much he took Tony’s finesse in bed for granted.

“I know, I know,” he answered when Tony said nothing. “Lots and lots of _practice_.” He slicked up one finger and moved his hand between Tony’s parted legs. He lowered himself until his face was close to Tony’s face -– this is the way Tony always prepared him and he really liked it.

But as much as he was _trying_ to stay quiet (the way Tony liked it) he found himself whispering “Ok, I’m going to need some technical advice here, because I don’t know how much you want …” he said quietly, as he slipped one finger into the older man’s body, but his question broke off when his finger was completely inside.

“Oh _Jesus_ Tony, you’re like an oven.”

Tony tried stroking his face and pulling him into a kiss, but Peter twisted his face away.

“_No_. Technical question.” He said it as gently as possible, knowing Tony would rather not talk at all. “I know I’m not as big as you, but you’re not exactly…..” He didn’t know how to phrase it. He knew how Tony prepared _him_ (and he did it expertly, effortlessly) but Peter, personally, was getting banged on a regular basis by a huge dick, whereas Tony wasn’t getting penetrated by …but it probably wasn’t polite to ask _that_ sort of question, so…

“You worry too much,” Tony growled. He pulled Peter’s hand away impatiently and tried to position Peter on top of him, but Peter held his ground.

“I’ll worry as much as I choose to,” he said quietly, his jaw set. Tony’s eyebrows went up. Peter took that as a positive. He pushed Tony’s demanding hands away, (but he didn’t reach for the lube again.) He kissed a line across the man’s forehead to soften the gesture. 

“Be good for me angel, I need you so badly I can taste it,” he whispered in between kisses. Just as he had always dreamed that Tony would whisper to him. 

He crooned gently as he positioned himself, as he pressed to, as he entered. Maybe Tony didn’t need the reassurance (the man was currently looking longingly at his mouth, like he wanted a kiss but didn’t dare take one.) Maybe Peter was really talking to himself, saying the words he had always longed for Tony to say. 

But Tony didn’t mind. Tony kept whispering “yes.” Then he was inside Tony’s body and his mouth was hanging open and he wasn’t saying anything at all.

His eyes were as wide as saucers –- oh god this was embarrassing -- at least Tony was too busy kissing the side of his face to notice. Kissing his face, and whispering “you’ve got it, Kid, you’ve got it.”

“Oh _Jesus_ Tony is this what I feel like to you?” Peter whimpered, hating how small his voice sounded, unable to stop it. Then Tony wrapped one leg around his waist which just pulled him deeper into that impossibly tight place and he lost all power of speech. He might not have moved at all but Tony began moving him, and soon their bodies were moving together, as Peter hung on to Tony’s shoulders and gaped.

“Does this... does this feel good?” he squeaked, and realized, for the very first time, that when that question was asked the asker really, _really_ needed to hear the answer.

“Yeah….it’s good,” Tony replied, in a way that made Peter think that the word “good” didn’t sum it up. At. All. 

Tony was enjoying himself, and Peter felt himself relax. He kept their foreheads together as they rocked. He could say anything now, Peter realized, and soon he found himself saying all the things he had dreamed that Tony would say to him. (After he was done saying “Ohfuckyouaresotight.” More than once.)

“Oh god you feel so good, oh Tony. Your ass feels so _good_ around my cock. Do I feel good inside you, angel? Does my cock feel good inside you?” 

“Yes Peter, yes.”

Again and again and again. Peter asking questions and Tony answering 'yes.' Peter thought he was doing well – he _seemed_ to be doing well – but then Tony made a growling noise in response to one of Peter’s questions and wrapped his second leg around Peter’s waist and very Peter found himself coming so suddenly it made his head spin. Tony held on hard, with an iron grip across his shoulders, kissing the side of his face and crooning his name. Then Peter came, and he found himself left with one thought.

_ “This is the most we’ve ever talked to each other in bed, ever.”_

As Peter let go Tony reached between them and began to stroke himself and came in very short order, allowing Peter to hold his head tight.

Peter fell asleep, or thought he did. At any rate he looked up and Tony was in the washroom, and then he was walking back into the bedroom with a warm, wet washcloth. Peter knew it was warm because Tony sat on the side of the bed and began clean Peter with it. He was smiling.

“So... um... did that... _work_?” Peter asked. It was a risky question. He _never_ asked ‘was it good for you?’ after sex, even after all this time, for fear of seeming needy/being made fun of. He had just complimented and moved on. But this was different.

Happily, Tony didn’t joke. He just continued to stroke Peter’s cock with the cloth, as if still cleaning it.

Of course he didn’t answer the question, either.

“What do you think?” he asked, but his eyes were gentle.

“It was kind of short,” Peter said, wincing.

“Oh….I _happen_ to know….” Tony said, leaning over to whisper into Peter’s ear, teasing Peter’s face with his beard. “…that you can get hard more than once a night.” He lay the cloth on Peter’s leg and began to stroke with his hand, just to make the point.

Even more than his hand, Tony’s stubble against his face gave him goosebumps, it always had. Peter turned and ran his lips along Tony’s jaw, tonguing it, enjoying the sensation against his mouth. He pressed his teeth against it, holding Tony’s face in place until he had his fill. Dammit, if this was the last time they had sex ever, he was going to make it count.

Tony allowed the attention, his hand stroking Peter’s cock the entire time. Finally he let Tony go, and turned his head. He swallowed hard. Tony noticed and pulled away enough to look at his face (but his hand never stopped moving.)

“What?”

“Can we go…explore your liquor cabinet?” Peter managed.

Tony’s eyebrows went up, and Peter knew a joke was coming. But all he said was “Champagne, to celebrate losing your v card?” That was a gentle enough joke. Tony was looking peaceful and unguarded. It was a lovely moment, and Peter was about to ruin it.

“I was thinking more like Everclear.”

Tony’s hand froze mid-stroke. His eyes narrowed.

“You can’t get drunk.”

“Actually,” Peter said raising one finger, “that’s never been proven. You were going to set out to prove it, I remember you suggest Everclear but you never...and... I’m just really nervous Tony.”

Tony’s face softened and it was beautiful to behold. “Baby, don’t stress about it. Little-Peter got overexcited, but that’s what second times are _for_. And third times and fourth times...”

“There’s something else I need to talk to you about!” Peter blurted out, hating himself. But he knew if he didn’t do it _now_, he wouldn’t do it at all.

“What did I do I swear officer he told me he was 18,” Tony replied, but Peter knew his mouth was on automatic. His expression was hardening, and he was pulling back.

“Tony, I have to tell you something,” Peter said as gently as he could, talking fast, hoping to get his point made before Tony retreated completely. “I keep… I’m sorry but... _every damn time_ I think I’m getting something right I’m getting it _spectacularly_ wrong. And I've been thinking about it nonstop since last night. But it wasn't until I was on my way over here I finally realized _why_. The truth is... Tony...” He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. He couldn’t even look at Tony’s face – it had gone cold.

Dammit, it was hard admitting to personal revelations when there was no comfort at the end of the admission. Just hours ago he had been standing in a group of people his own age, most of which didn’t even know his last name... and he could told ALL OF THEM his revelation and they would have, to a man, patted him on the back and sympathized. Or at least made sympathetic noises. But not Tony. Peter inhaled again and said it anyway. “Tony I don’t listen to anything that comes out of your mouth... unless it _serves my own purpose_.

“I am a shitty person -- it’s not just that I only hear what I want to hear, I’m _hearing_ all of it, its just that I only take it seriously if it fits my own needs. 

“You told me what you wanted to do in bed -- you told me more than once. I _remember_ what you told me. But what you were saying wasn’t... fitting in my head as right and so... I _decided_ you were joking.”

Tony threw the washcloth to the floor so suddenly that Peter started, but when he spoke, he spoke quietly. 

“So what are you suggesting?” he said through a clenched jaw.

“I’m... not... suggesting anything,” Peter said carefully. “I’m apologizing. I... _suggest_ you... accept my apology and... forgive me and…”

“…_and maybe stop trying to communicate everything through lewdness, dirty jokes and straight up raunchiness_?” said another Peter. A braver Peter. An older Peter.

But that Peter wasn’t here. And so the Peter who was here ran his finger up Tony’s bicep and spoke very gently.

“... and maybe I’m suggesting you... give.... me some tips on... how to last longer? I mean… you’re kind of the expert. We both know you can last for hours so….”

There was silence for a moment. Tony’s face was working, his mouth twitching, but Peter couldn’t tell if it was as about to say something painfully honest or comedic or…

But then Tony’s mouth was on top of his mouth, and Peter couldn’t talk anyway because his mouth was full of Tony’s tongue. 

Tony pushed Peter all the way back until he was lying on the bed, and Peter groaned, not because Tony was currently kissing him breathless but because this meant the sex was beginning again, which mean the talking was now over. (Ok he was also groaning because Tony was kissing him breathless. He wasn’t made of iron.)

When Tony finally came up for air, his growled advice made Peter’s spine tingle.

“There are three tricks to not coming like a virgin-on-prom-night. One, think of roadkill. Do not recommend. Second, put your fingers around the base of your cock like this,” he said, bringing up his hand to demonstrate, “and squeeze. Or let me. I volunteer.” Then he was kissing Peter again, apparently trying to taste the back of his throat, all while climbing aboard as if he were going to start riding Peter then and there.

“Wait…. what was the third thing?” Peter said, pulling his face away.

“You won’t come so fast the fourth time. Or the fifth. Baby…. you’re gonna rock me _all_ night long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've come THIS far, why not leave a comment?
> 
> (BTW have no fear - they WILL TALK in the next chapter! Promise!)


	4. Studying Pays Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If I knew all I had to do to get you to open you up in bed was ride your cock, I would have tied you down months ago.”
> 
> “As if you could tie me down."
> 
> “I’ll invent vibranium handcuffs.”
> 
> “Oh sure – the strongest substance in the world and you’d use it to make….sex toys?”

“OK, but... but we are going to talk more about this later…?” Peter sputtered, trying to get his mouth free enough to talk.

“You talk pretty well when you’re buried to the hilt in my ass,” Tony growled as he ran his tongue, and then his teeth, down Peter’s shoulder. “I never knew you could talk so _dirty_.”

“Wait... I did?!” Peter asked as best he could, honestly confused, but now Tony was completely on top of him the man laughed into his mouth. “Wait, why is _that_ funny?” Peter demanded. 

Tony didn’t want to answer, but Peter was too curious to let it go. Using his superior strength he pushed Tony away from him (just far enough that he could look into Tony’s face) to demand an answer.

Tony stopped laughing and began to look annoyed. “Excuse me Mr. I-Am-Not-A-Twink, I think you were talking pretty damn well just now. Who knew the sweet Petie Parker could talk like that? If I knew all I had to do to get you to open you up in bed was ride your cock, I would have tied you down _months_ ago.”

He started biting his way down Peter’s neck again, grinding their bodies together, but he could have been making omelets for all Peter noticed. Peter looked away, his eyes huge as he tried to process.

“As if you _could_ tie me down,” he said, his mouth on automatic pilot.

“I’ll invent vibranium handcuffs.”

“Oh sure -- the strongest substance in the world and you’d use it to make... sex toys?”

It meant nothing -- it was just their regular banter, the usual nonsense that they usually engaged in. The only difference was -- they were talking _during sex_ and that made all the difference in the world.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Peter said quietly, when Tony slicked up his finger and pushed it, impatiently, into Peter’s body. Tony had given Peter a lot to think about, and he _was_ going to think about it, but not right now.

“Trying to make you hard again, baby.”

“And why would you need to do that, Tony?”

Tony only moaned in response and Peter pulled his head closer. Tony complied awkwardly. He was fingering Peter and trying to work Peter’s cock with his other hand. He had to lean on his elbows, and on Peter’s body, but Peter didn’t release his head.

What Peter wanted to say was said best whispered, was best said with faces close.

“Why do you need my cock to be hard, Tony? Tell me, baby. Tell me why you need me to get hard again.”

Tony moaned and struggled. Peter _had_ to let him move his hands -- that meant he was neither fingering Peter’s ass nor stroking his cock, only trying to hold himself up as Peter forcibly held their heads together. But Peter didn’t need hands anymore, he pressed his rising erection against Tony’s body.

More importantly, he kept _talking_.

“All I need to get hard is to think about your body, angel,” he murmured, running one hand up and down Tony’s bicep, stroking through the shirt. “How good your arms feel when their wrapped around me, holding me tight, making me feel so safe. Or how damn _good_ you look from behind…” He let go of Tony’s head and moved both hands to Tony’s waist, caressing his ass. “What you let me see -- those long legs and this incredible ass. Of course, most of America is lusting after this ass. But I’m the only one who gets to…”

With a growl Tony pushed himself away from Peter and sat up. Taking Peter’s cock in hand he had him in position and inside his body before Peter even had time to squeak “Lube?!” 

“Baby, _no_,” Tony said through gritted teeth. “First, you’re not as big as I am and second you are too fucking gentle but don’t worry, we’ll get you past that, now where were we?”

He was sitting upright on Peter’s cock and although Peter has sworn earlier that they would not be in this position (dammit this was something _he_ was going _to_ do to Tony, _not_ the other way around!) suddenly it sounded like a wonderful idea. Tony was riding him with quick, shallow movements but, more importantly, had his head bowed down to Peter’s head. He was taking Peter’s hands and combing them through his own hair and Peter realized, suddenly and to his immense satisfaction, and Tony _wanted_ him to _keep talking_.

“What do you need from me, angel?” Peter whispered. Being inside Tony’s body was no longer the most intense thing he had ever experienced, at least, not SO intense that he couldn’t think. He bucked his hips slightly to meet Tony’s movements. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need you.”

“Tell me Tony, tell me what you need,” he crooned. He could do _this_, talk to Tony like _this_. This is the way he talked when Tony was sucking his cock, and he had gotten pretty good at it. He could give compliments and speak, factually, about what was happening now. And he could ask questions.

And this time, Tony could answer. (Because his mouth wasn’t full.)

“Tell me what you need, angel,” he insisted, running his thumb over Tony’s mouth. “I need to hear you say it.”

Tony’s eyes were closed and Peter enjoyed, for the moment, the beautiful look on the man’s face. Then he stopped moving his hips. Tony made a frustrated noise.

“_Tell me what you need_, Tony. I need to hear you say it.”

“I need you to keep doing this.”

“Keep doing what?”

“Keep fucking my ass, oh god Peter,” Tony moaned, and Peter rewarded him for his honesty.

It continued like that for a while, Peter lifting his head and crooning to Tony while rocking inside him. Then, deciding it might not do to push his luck, he lay flat on his back, letting his head relax, all while continuing the constant motion of his hips.

For a while they continued in silence. Peter found himself reaching up and taking hold of the headboard in his hands. Then, after planting his feet, he used that purchase to roll his hips forward, changing their rhythm. Tony’s eyes went wide.

Amazed at his own boldness, Peter’s lifted his head and started to speak again.

“I could do this all night, Tony,” he murmured gently. “God you’re so tight and you’re so warm -- I had no idea this is how good it felt to you. You feel amazing...”

And so on and so on. Sometimes he could get Tony to answer (all he had to do was ask “Do you want me to keep doing this?”) but mostly he complimented. Mostly he praised. And mostly he said how good it felt.

“Do you want me to come inside you, just like this?” He asked (just as Tony had always asked, in his fantasies.) “Just like when you’re on your knees, and you’re sucking me into that expert mouth, making me speechless or babbling like an idiot, making me come so fast all I can do is apologize…” Tony’s breath caught and Peter smiled. He knew that sound, knew it well. “Yes, come for me, come for me Tony. Give me that. I want that too.”

Tony came with a shout and Peter was able to watch his face -– there was no place for him to hide it in this position –- but then Tony’s body was squeezing him like a vice and Peter was swearing and coming too.

They lay, panting, holding each other, for quite a while. It was Tony was the first to break the silence.

“Holy shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know you can't leave ANOTHER kudo - so leave a comment to let me know you're still reading!
> 
> This fic WILL be done (with a happy ending!) Before the 12 days of Christmas are over.


	5. 110 Likes, Minimum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You fucking me is just one more card in an entire deck. I mean this, you taking over, you talking to me, you making demands. That’s what I always wanted. God Kid, listening to you talk – as long as *you’re* talking I know it’s ok. I know I won’t say the wrong thing.”

They lay panting together, Tony collapsed halfway on Peter’s body, his head laying, face down on the pillow. Peter still had one hand holding onto the headboard in a deathgrip (oh dear, did he leave marks? Again!?) and suddenly found himself, absurdly, unable to let go.

Then Tony was bringing their faces together and chuckling softly.

“Seriously, Pete. Holy shit.”

Peter breathed. Then he grinned. Then he laughed a little as well. He felt his whole body relax and, slowly, let his fingers relax too. He pulled away enough to look into Tony’s face. He felt stunned.

“So... was that... good?

“Good? Goddamn, where did you learn to talk like _that_ Kid?”

“AO3,” Peter said without thinking, but panicked a little when Tony reacted. (He had assumed Tony had no idea what AO3 was.)

“Wait…is _that_ the server where they write the raunchy stories about me?”

“Noooo... of course not,” Peter said with an exaggerated eyeroll (hoping to cover.) “That’s where they post raunchy stories about Lord of the Rings.”

“Why would anyone want to…nevermind,” Tony shaking his head, and Peter tried to hide his look of relief. 

“Look forget that part, so, that was good, right?” Peter asked, even as he noticed that Tony was still laying, unmoving, half on and half off his body.

“Well, _you_ came pretty hard,” he said dismissively, the edges of his mouth beginning to lift into a smirk when Peter grabbed that face very suddenly with one hand.

“_But did you like it_?” he insisted.

Tony groaned and closed his eyes. His face looked peaceful (and, to be honest, very very tired) but all he said was…

“Yes…Daddy?”

Peter winced and kissed him then, hoping to avoid whatever joke was now inevitable. They kissed that way for some time. In fact they kissed so long that Tony revived, pulled himself up onto his elbows and moved his body to cover Peter’s... then worked his hands under Peter’s shoulders and suddenly rolled them oven until Tony was on his back and Peter was on top, all without breaking the kiss.

“Oh god Peter…” he moaned again, in a voice that sounded so exhausted and broken that it made Peter startle and pull back. Looking into Tony’s face he noticed dark circles under the man’s eyes. Had they been there before? Or was it just that the man looked so relaxed and unguarded in this moment? In any case he only had a moment to wonder before he was pulled down into another kiss.

“Goddamn, Peter,” Tony whispered against his mouth. “This is what I always wanted.”

“Wait... what?” Peter said, breaking the kiss. He pulled up and looked into Tony’s face in confusion. After a solid year of getting spectacularly fucked by Tony Stark _surely_ the man hadn’t really spent the _entire time_ wishing…

“Not **_that_**, stupid,” Tony said, reading his face. He frowned. Then he took Peter’s face in his hands and brought their foreheads together. “You fucking me is just one more card trick in the magic show. I mean **_this_**, you taking over, you **_talking to me_**, you telling me what you _want_, you making demands. _That’s_ what I always wanted. _God_ Kid, listening to you -- I could listen to you talk to me that way all night.

“As long as you’re talking I know it’s okay. I know I won’t say the wrong thing.

“_What_!?” Tony said, looking into Peter’s confused face. He didn’t sound irritated, he looked to calm to be irritated, but he _did_ look exhausted, and Peter wondered how long it had been since the man had slept. “Ever since _you_ forbid me from talking I’ve been a good boy -- I’ve kept my mouth shut. And that’s quite a feat for me. But you Kid, you can talk to me _all you want_.”

He moved up for a kiss but Peter pulled away, eyes wide, the gears in his head turning. “Tony I... I never told you not to talk to me during sex... I just asked you not to make jokes about it.”

“Baby, this _is_ a joke,” Tony whispered gently.

“What... what?!” Peter sputtered as Tony pushed him off and then heaved himself off the bed. He should have been angry, but Tony looked too serene right now, too serene and…relieved? Like a man who had just survived an exhausting journey and was trying to find the energy to make it to the shower before he collapsed. He was, in fact, headed toward the shower, even as Peter tried to make sense of what he had just said.

“This... this is all... _this_ is all a joke to you?”

“Peter, for godsakes, pay attention!” Tony said wearily. He had made it as far as the door to the washroom and was now leaning his head against the doorframe. 

“Everything we’ve ever done in this bed is a joke. No matter how tender or intimate or precious it is to us, no matter how brave or precocious or shy you are, and no matter how well we’ve learned to read each other, no matter what we’ve confessed to wanting in this room _someone is laughing about it. _

_“_Right this minute, right this _second_, there are people in bars all across America making jokes about how their rival sports team likes to do exactly what you did to me tonight, and everything I’ve ever done to you. Yes, Peter. _It **is** a joke_.

“That’s why I joke about it.”

“Why should I give a fuck what your fucked-up generation thinks... hey!” Peter called out, following Tony left the room.

“You know I could describe everything that just happened and everything we just said to each other on Tumblr. right now and I’d have 110 likes by tomorrow morning, **_minimum_**!!”

He stopped then. They were standing in Tony’s ridiculously large bathroom, a room where the shower, bath and toilet each had their own little nook, a room with such unlikely furniture including a desk and a love seat. He stopped because his voice was echoing off the walls. He closed his mouth hard. He had been shouting. (And exaggerating. On a weekday he’d be lucky if he got 50 likes, tops.)

Tony had been standing in front of the love seat and looking at it, baffled, as if he couldn’t remember how to walk around it (or why anyone needed this much furniture in their bathroom.) But now he was looking at Peter angrily.

“Oh yeah? Well I have _no idea what that means_.” He walked around the love seat picked up a towel. “But what I **_do_** know is that my Gen Z boyfriend just fucked my ass twice, excuse me, _made love to_ my ass twice, so I’m taking a shower.

“Tell me how many 'likes' that gets.”

Peter stood, gaping, as Tony entered the shower. “Are you coming?” the tired man called from within.

Peter came.


	6. Our Own 2-Man Superfriends Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I Was Rejected By Tony Stark In An Elevator?
> 
> “Worst. Villain. Backstory. Ever.”

Inside the shower there was little talking. Not that Tony was distant, he was just as affectionate in the shower as always. Affectionate, and exhausted. At one point he dropped the bar of soap and looked around for it, baffled, without actually looking down.

“Tony, when was the last time you slept?”

Giving up on the soap, Tony stood under the spray, looking up to think as he rinsed off. “I was pushing 20 hours when I got on the plane. I was working – I figured I’d sleep when I got home. But then I got your note.”

“But that was last night…oh god….”

Peter picked up the soap and finished lathering up the man, then rinsed him off. Then shampooed his hair and rinsed that off too. Tony allowed it all with an amused but gentle look. Finally Peter was satisfied and led him out of the shower to towel him off. Tony smiled silently, appreciative. Still, the silence worried Peter. Now they talked during sex, and that was good. But did that mean they wouldn’t talk _after_? They dried off in the absurdly large bathroom, then Tony took Peter by the hand and led him back to the bed. He gently pushed Peter to lay down on his with a solid hand in the center of his chest. Then he laid beside him, hand still on his chest, and looked into his face.

“You scare the absolute shit out of me, Peter Parker,” he whispered. 

“I…what? What does that mean?”

“You wanted me to keep my mouth closed during sex – so I was safe then. But then you wanted me to talk when I went down on you but mostly I couldn’t say more than yes or no because my mouth was full. But now you want me to talk when my mouth isn’t full and that’s just dangerous. Very very dangerous.”

“I don’t understand. What…what are you going to say? Where are you going?” Tony was sitting up and looking very alarmed. 

“Tony, what’s wrong?”

“Oh shit. Oh god.” His eyes were wide and he was looking around the room in horror. “I messed up, I sat up to go drink. You’re usually asleep by now. Oh _god_ this is it, is this it? This is it, isn’t it?”

“This is…what? Tony you’re not making any sense.”

“This is when I say _the thing_, and you leave.”

“_The thing_? Tony…”

The man was sitting, completely naked, on the side of the bed, his feet on the floor, and his shoulders were beginning to rise and fall as his breath quickened. Peter scooted up to him, slipping both legs and around him and wrapping an arm around the shaking man’s body, and combing fingers through his hair. 

“Your sleep deprivation is disrupting the connection between your amygdala and your medial prefrontal cortex…I appreciate that it’s making you very open right now but you’re also talking crazy. What “thing” are you going to say to me to make me leave? I _know_ all your secrets. I know your Secret Identity; the whole world knows. And I know you like guys. And you like bottoming sometimes – so hot times for me. What do you think…hey…” But Tony was standing and walking, unsteadily out the door.

“You are _going_ to stop saying cryptic things and _leaving the room_!” Peter demanded as he followed him, again, into the bathroom. There he found Tony sitting on the love seat, gripping the edge with his hands, eyes wide.

“For godssakes what is this terrible confession?? Are you seeing someone else?”

Tony looked up him suddenly, so disgusted that Peter immediately apologized. He climbed into Tony’s lap, linked his hands around the back of his neck, and spoke gently.

“Ok…ok. That's not it. So... what could it be? You… have a crazy wife hidden somewhere in the penthouse and that’s why we can’t get married… no? Your crazy first wife IS dead, but your equally-crazy MAID wants me to believe she’s still alive and in the last act she’ll burn the house down. Soylent Green is people? _Come on_, throw me a bone… I’m out of movies here Tony.”

Tony opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Ok, ok, ok.” Peter racked his brain, tried to think about what parts of Tony’s life he didn’t know about. “Do you have an illegitimate son my age?” he ventured.

“_Oh my god are you my father_? No, no, you’re right, that’s too Star Wars. Ok, I’m out. Please tell me what _the thing_ is so we can just get some sleep.”

“How can you have dated me for a year and still not figure this out yet?” Tony shouted, or tried to shout. His voice was breathless and broken. “You want me to take off my armor and strip away the sarcasm and the humor and _what’s left_? There’s nothing here but _me_. And I’m not **_good enough for you_**! You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m going to screw it up some day and say the one thing that makes you leave and there’s nothing I can do to stop that, and I’m an utter coward and I can’t live like this much longer Pete!”

He had Peter by the waist and had lifted him up, or tried to, and was now gesturing by shaking Peter’s body, weakly, back and forth. Peter easily broke away from his grip and pulled him close, stroking his head. (Tony struggled, but what was he going to do? He was sitting naked in his bathroom with a lap-full of the Strongest Avenger.)

“So…wait…the thing you’re afraid of saying is…”

“The last straw. I won’t know what it is until I say it. But I _will_ say it, Pete, I’ll say it and you’ll walk out on me and that will be the end of me.”

“Oh god. This is just…_Jesus_ Tony is this really just existential relationship-angst? Oh Tony, _everyone_ has that. Well, I imagine yours is _epic_…you could never do anything halfway.” He kissed Tony’s head before he let go.

“Ok, I get it,” he said as gently as possible, stroking the man’s hair away from his face. “You’re a superhero. So you have super-sized angst. Bigger than the regular angst. I’ll give you that. But you’re _not_ a coward. No more than I am. I’ve spent all night trying to work up the nerve to…actually I’ve been working up the nerve for months to tell you this…”

Peter let his hands drop to his thighs. He leaned back (as far as he could, sitting on Tony’s lap) and took a deep breath.

“Tony. We’ve _got_ to stop trying to read each other’s minds. Because we both suck at it. I mean we do it great on the training fields at the compound and, ok, we do it _really_ well in the lab together but wow, when we try to do it in this relationship? We suck.

“You’re afraid to say the one thing that makes me leave and I can’t work up the gumption to ask you for _anything_, your eyes get angry and your nose does this little sniffle thing when you’re about to get really mad and suddenly I shut up for fear for getting kicked out the tower and never being asked back. Do you realize in all this time we’ve never had an argument, ever? We’ve never even had angrysex. You’re right, this isn’t sustainable. We need to make a decision.

“I had a very elaborate plan to get into your pants and it worked. But I had no plans after that. I had no idea you’d invite me back, or keep inviting me. But it’s been nearly a year, Tony. I need to know. Are we…a thing? Are you my boyfriend? Partner? Significant-hero... whatever? Because, if we are, Tony, then we can _argue_. You can say ‘the thing’ that pisses me off and I’ll get mad and yell at you, and then I’ll come back. Like a couple. The way _couples_ do.”

“But what if you don’t? No, baby, no. It’s too much to risk…”

“_Excuse_ me?

“Anthony Stark, the very weekend I announced that I was 20 years old and gay was the same weekend of the Capture the Flag game. Do you remember? You said my team won because I was pretending the flag was a giant dildo – in the shape of Fury’s penis. Do you really think you can say something that would piss me off more than that?

“Tony, Nat told me that dating you would be hard work, and she was right. It is hard work, _but it is worth it_. But we need to be working on it _together_ and we can’t do that if we don’t admit that it’s happening! If we are together, if we are a couple, if we are our own 2-Man Superfriends team…then you can say ‘_the thing_’ and, yes, it might piss me off but I’ll still be back. No, I mean it, I’ll prove it,” he said in a gentler tone. He took Tony’s face and leaned it back to look up into his. “Open your mouth _right now_ and say the most offensive thing you can think of, and I’ll prove to you it won’t make me leave.”

Tony blinked up into his face. He looked stunned and helpless and fearful. But all he said is “Your generation is too sensitive and you make it impossible to joke about anything.”

Peter’s lifted his eyes to the ceiling as he considered the statement. Then he nodded.

“Okay. Well,”

He patted Tony’s cheeks. Then he squeezed his face a little between his hands as he said “And your generation was so homophobic you codified it so deeply into your language you don’t even realize when you’re being horrible, so I guess we’re even.

“Now that’s it – we’re official. We _are_ a couple, and we can officially get into fights now.

“Besides – that way we can have makeup sex.”

He kissed Tony firmly on the forehead and then sat back on Tony’s lap, smiling, proud of himself and what he had said out loud.

But his pride was somewhat dampened when he saw Tony’s pained face. “I’m toasting self destruction but I have no scotch which is too bad because this is going to be legendary,” Tony whispered, and Peter’s shoulders sank.

“Oh god. You’re so sleep deprived you’re incoherent. Are you even going to remember this conversation in the morning?”

“I have no idea,” Tony said quietly, looking around the room as if he had never seen it before. “Wait, c’mere. I want to tell you something.”

Tony pushed himself free of Peter’s body and stood, taking him by the hand and leading him back to the bed. This time he had Peter sit up in the bed with his back against the headboard. Tony lay himself lengthwise alongside the headboard, his head in Peter’s lap. Once he got comfortable he started to speak.

“A famous man once said, "We create our own demons.” Do you know who said that?”

“No. But let me get my phone and I’ll look it up. Or you could just ask FRIDAY.”

“Nevermind. I’m going to tell you a story. It started in Burns Switzerland in 1999, Christ were you even born yet? The good old days. I never thought they'd come back to bite me.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

He talked for two hours. It would have been less but Peter asked many questions (but not as many as he wanted. He put aside a dozen topics he was planning on googling later.) He had heard many versions of the story, of how Dr. Killian had been the American behind the Mandarin attacks and the destruction of Tony’s house in Malibu, but he had never heard the story from Tony himself.

They changed positions many times, from the Psychiatrist-Couch position to spooning to sitting up on the bed to back to the Psychiatrist-Couch position (but reversed.) Tony was just getting to the part where War Machine had saved the life of the President when Peter stood, brought him a pair of boxer shorts, donned a pair himself, took him by the hand and led him to the kitchen.

“It’s 5 in the morning,” he announced. “Time for breakfast. If I get some food into you _maybe_ I can get you to sleep. But not until you finish your story. I’m still trying to figure out how dissing a nerd in an elevator at a New Years Eve party made YOU to blame when he refrigerated your personal assistant.”

“Well…she was my girlfriend at the time.”

“That makes it worse, not better, Tony. We’re making omelets now.”

Tony obeyed. “What does ‘refrigerate’ mean?” he asked, his head in the fridge.

“I’ll explain later. I appreciate the connections you’re trying to make here, Tony, I do, but I don’t think this is as circular as you think it is. Lots of rich people didn’t invest in AIM’s screwed-up think tank. He didn’t torture all _their_ girlfriends.”

“But it was… it is. Circular. I made the demons myself…”

“No, sorry, not buying it. _I Was Rejected By Tony Stark In An Elevator_? Worst. Villain. Backstory. Ever.”

“You know, I told this story, all of it, to Bruce,” Tony later admitted as they ate their omelets. “He fell asleep early on.”

“Bruce? The guy who had to be a hermit is as his main survival skill for, like, ages? Bruce is a good man, but he’s not a good friend. I just mean he has a lot of guilt and pain in his life. Not much room to invest in someone else’s.”

They discussed Bruce and the other Avengers as they moved the dishes into the sink. But before they headed back to bed Tony pulled Peter into his arms and held him close.

“You’re the only one on the planet, now, who knows this story,” he whispered.

“Well, yeah, that makes sense,” Peter said with a tired grin.

“I _am_ your boyfriend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The three movies Peter references are: Jane Eyre, Rebecca and Soylent Green.
> 
> Peter will, later, explain to Tony the unfortunate practice Villains have of Refrigerating the Superheroes significant other. And by villains we mean comic book writers. If you are interested, grab your phone and look up Women in Refrigerators.


	7. The L Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thought about life, about the choices and the string of events that were required to bring you to the place where you made the choice, and the string of events that might by likely, or might be as equally unlikely, to occur because of your choice. 

“Why did you bother?” Tony asked after they had settled into bed. They had held each other in the daylit room, but Peter had finally turned around and snuggled into his little spoon position and had been drifting off to sleep. 

He groaned.

“You _promised_, Tony. _Please_ try to sleep.” 

“Last question, I swear,” Tony said, sitting up and combing his hands through Peter’s hair. “I just don’t get it. I wasn’t shitty to you on accident, that day of the Capture the Flag game. 

“I was shitty to you on purpose. 

“I know everyone thinks that I don’t control it, that I have diarrhea of the mouth. Even Bruce thinks that. But that’s my secret. All my indifference is highly, highly calculated. You came to the compound and announced you were 20, gay and ready to party. I shoved you away as hard as I could. Too fast to actually think about it. And I thought I succeeded. It never even occurred to me I still had a shot until Nat said something. And that surprised the hell of me. I was a complete asshole, and I still wound up with an armful... I mean a mouthful... of Peter Parker. You said all this is 'hard work'…so why do it?

“Why did you bother?”

“If I tell you, will you promise to go to sleep?” Peter grumbled, already turning his head away from that gentle hand, already pressing his face into the sheets, hiding it. Dammit, just because Tony was opening up veins and spilling out all his truths, did that really Peter _had _to do it too?

But it was too late. He was already here, trapped beneath Tony’s gentle stroking fingers, suffering from a little sleep-dep himself. So, in a nod to how much Tony had already confessed, he tried his best.

“I had a bad dream.”

It sounded just as stupid out loud as it did in his head, so he stopped there. 

But Tony, oh dammit, Tony’s breath had caught and he was sitting up now, trying to turn Peter towards him, asking annoying questions.

“_I don’t want to talk about it!_” Peter snapped, pushing Tony’s hands away, jerking his body back into his ‘I Am Sleeping Now Thankyou’ position. He was stronger than Tony Stark dammit, and it was time Tony Stark remembered that.

There was silence. Then Peter felt a tentative hand caressing his back.

“Please?”

Peter’s face crumpled. There wasn’t enough hiding space on the sheets for his face, but he tried anyway. But he couldn’t deny the tender, unguarded tone from the man behind him. 

So he pushed himself back into Tony’s embrace. He turned his face away from the sheets enough to speak. He told the story. He fought to keep the tears back, but doing that _and_ talking was too much work, so he stopped fighting.

“It’s stupid. 

“Not the part where I had a scary dream I mean, the dream was stupid. Like This-Is-Pissing-Me-Off levels of stupid. The Over-Alien, Thanos I mean. He created the glove because he got all the Infinity Stones (for some profoundly stupid reason) and we fought him. You and me. We were on the moon, not really the moon, but someplace very far away, too far away to ever get home. We got there on a space ship, and it had wrecked. I wasn’t supposed to be there, you told me not to be, but I was.

“But it _was_ also the moon, because we could jump around like astronauts. Not you and me, the Guardians. I saw them in my dream before they actually came to earth – remember how Cap said they might have been acting like that because they were really rattled? I think he’s wrong. I think they act like that all the time. I think that’s just how they are.

“And we fought _him_. Over-Alien. You were right to call him The Big Blue. He looked ridiculous. I’d tell you what he looked like but you’d think it was funny. But it wasn’t funny. And we fought him. Dr. Strange was there and he used me like a weapon, like a boomerang, and I was _really_ kicking his ass, his head I mean…”

He stopped and rolled his eyes, disgusted at himself. What point was there to bragging about his most awesome moment, the moment he did something fantastic for (and in front of!) his hero Tony Stark? That moment never happened.

“And then he stabbed you with your own nanotech and then I died. And it _hurt_. I felt it in my bone-marrow. In internal organs that aren’t supposed to have pain sensors, I felt it. I fought it. And you held me…”

He stopped fighting tears and he turned around, suddenly and wrapped his arms around Tony, one arm around his neck and the other on his back.

Just like he had in the dream. 

“You held me so close,” he said, ignoring the tears. “And I wanted to be brave for you and I so I fought it but I couldn’t keep…it was too much. And I died in your arms and I was so _sorry_…”

“Shhhhh…” Tony said, or tried to say, but he feared it wouldn’t sound sincere. He had burned through too much goodwill to try to sound comforting now. So he just held on in silence.

“And then it gets really stupid, because you died next,” Peter said, wiping the tears away even as he grimaced at how _absurd_ it was. “It’s a dream so it doesn’t have to make sense. There was fighting after that, a lot of people. And we won, but we didn’t. And you died in my arms…”

His voice broke again.

“And they _pulled me away from you_ because I was a child and they weren’t. You held my hand, you _called for me_, but they pulled me away.” His jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Still angry. Still very, very angry. It was ridiculous to be so angry, even now, but he was. 

“I don’t remember that part,” Tony said, absently stroking his head. He wasn’t even looking at him then, just looking into space. Remembering.

“What did _you_ do, when you woke up?" Tony asked finally. "Because I started drinking. Just got out of bed and went straight to the liquor cabinet and broke into the scotch. I had some idea if I drank hard enough, fast enough, I could black it out, lose the memory. But I second-guessed myself, and stopped. Decided to be a responsible adult. Then a week later StarFlake and Galaxy High landed in their spaceship and oh god I really, really wish I hadn't stopped.

“I saw _all_ of that. The way you _fought it off_, and god Kid, I was so damn _proud_ of you. You were the only one who _could_ have fought it, but you couldn’t fight it forever. And then you said “I’m sorry” and then were gone and all I could think of was that I couldn’t tell you how _proud_ I was that you had tried. And ‘I lost the Kid.’ _‘I lost the Kid_.’ That’s all I could think of.

“And there were so many people there, all these people being told a story of how Spider-Man turns to dust, and they were all _crying. _All of them. The adults and the children, especially the children. They cried. And I couldn’t cry because… there enough left of me to cry with.”

"And this dream, I just couldn’t shake it. Not because it was real (it wasn’t real, it was so nonsensical.) But it was so _loud_. It left my ears ringing.”

Peter pulled away enough to look into Tony’s face. When it was clear the man wasn’t joking, he snuggled into his chest and breathed in his scent.

“So, what you’re telling me is…this is all your fault,” Peter said finally.

“After I got the spiderbite, I was constantly doing this. Hearing things I shouldn’t have been able to hear, seeing things I shouldn’t have been able to see, know things were sneaking up behind me, etc. etc. So I picked up on **_your_** bad dream. Which came from your messed-up brain. I get it.”

“I had the dream before we were sleeping together…”

“Shut up please I like my new theory and I’m keeping it. Goodnight. See you in a few hours,” He said decidedly, turning back into his comfortable position as the little spoon and stubbornly snuggling in.

“I don’t want to talk about it any more Tony,” was all he would say, and Tony had to admit defeat. But the wheels in Tony's brain continued to turn.

He thought about life, about the choices and the string of events that were required to bring you to the place where you made the choice, and the string of events that might by likely, or might be as equally unlikely, to occur because of your choice. And he thought about sleep, and how the deprivation of said sleep might disrupt the connection between the amygdala and medial prefrontal cortex which might make some decisions, including the saying of certain words out loud, regrettable.

And then he thought of the Over-Alien, so everpresent it haunted all their dreams, and how his continued non-presence made otherwise unsafe-decisions reasonable.

That’s why he continued to stroke Peter’s hair.

“I love you,” he whispered.

The silence stretched out between them.

“Okay,” he said chuckling, conceding defeat. It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. Maybe he was too tired to hurt. “Never mind…”

“Oh, I’m planning on saying it,” Peter murmured matter-of-factly. “Just not right now.

“I’m betting money you’re not going to remember most of this conversation tomorrow.”

Tony Stark grinned from ear to ear.

“I’ll take that bet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You KNOW you can't leave another Kudo - so you SHOULD leave a COMMENT.
> 
> \------------------
> 
> IT IS DONE! Enjoy!
> 
> The SERIES, however, has two codas. I promised you happy endings. You get the happiest.

**Author's Note:**

> You've come this far, why not leave a comment?
> 
> Comments are EASY just cut and paste your favorite line.


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